Page 58 of Doctor Charmer

“What did you do, Reggie?”

I chuckle and hold open the door. I don’t have to say a word. The expression on her face says it all.

Hands to mouth, leaning forward in laughter, Ivy screeches at the sight of her kids. All of them. When I floated the idea by Chelsea, I expected one or two of the teammates. I’m familiar with where college kids would like to spend their New Year, and hanging out with adults in a hospital would not be anywhere on this list.

But I underestimated what Ivy means to each of them. Every one of them agreed in an instant, not hesitating when I sent them matching T-shirts and told them about the balloons.

“Oh my god, we totally are going to have to put these up on the team’s website as a fundraiser.” Ivy points to the T-shirt Chelsea models in front of her.

It’s a silver-and-white shirt, matching the school’s colors. Two volleyballs on the bottom half of the T-shirt and above it in large black Comic-Con font are the wordsgirls, grab your balls.

I designed the shirt on my iPad in the waiting room yesterday when Angie refused to let me go to the operating room to assist with Ivy’s surgery. It was the right move by her, but Ivy is right: I don’t do idle very well.

After the operation, as I waited for her to be moved to the recovery room, I designed the matching Mylar balloons. Had them special ordered and rush delivery.

“If you do, I bet every dude on campus is going to order one,” Griffin says.

“Every girl too,” Dalia chimes in. “We’ll be able to afford our own van, finally.”

The volume of the television rises, and we turn to see one of the girls holding the remote. “It’s time.”

“Ten!” The countdown begins, and the air in the room electrifies with excitement.

“Nine!” they all chant as one. A synchronized team that does everything together. “Eight!”

“Reggie!” I hear Ivy call out but can’t see her amongst the bodies pressed around her.

“Seven.”

“Reggie!”

“Six.”

“Make way for him.” Ivy’s voice fills with a frantic need that somehow only causes me to laugh.

“Five.”

“This is not funny.”

“Four.”

“Get your cute little butt over here—”

“Three.”

“—and kiss me.”

“Two.”

The team separates, clearing a path for me, and I race forward.

“One!”

I reach her right at the stroke of midnight. My lips find hers, and I wrap her in a protective hug. She mirrors my embrace, and we become oblivious to the shouts an yells around us. Our kiss is for the entire team to see. For the entire world to see.

“Happy New Year to you,” I say, my eyes glazed over in happiness.

“Right back at you,” she whispers, pulling me in for another tight hug.

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